


Bedtime Story

by entangledwood (Eryn)



Series: John/Sherlock ageplay series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ageplay, Gen, Nonsexual Ageplay, Reading, nonsexual kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/entangledwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time they tried, it was nothing like what John had imagined. It was the wrong age, the wrong act. But it was what Sherlock was comfortable with as a trial run, so John would make do with it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Story

**Author's Note:**

> They (maybe not so) long awaited sequel to Baby steps, my Breaking the Sex Mold story
> 
> special thanks go to AngeNoir, who took the time to read this over for me :D

The first time they tried, it was nothing like what John had imagined. It was the wrong age, the wrong act - they even had an imaginary third person for all the things Sherlock wasn't permitting John to do for him. But it was what Sherlock was comfortable with as a trial run, and John’s aim was to make his flatmate comfortable, so he didn’t press the issue. He would simply have to content himself with the mentality, which was still close to what wanted from the experience.

They were sitting on the couch watching the telly, both lost in their own thoughts. They hadn’t dressed for the occasion or anything, but John could feel the tension in his flatmate’s back, mirroring the anxiousness in his own hands. The tension broke and was replaced with anticipation when the evening news started. Taking a fortifying breath John turned to look at Sherlock seriously. He was doing his best to emulate his grandfather’s ‘do as you’re told boy’ look and just hoped it would have the same effect that his grandpa’s look always had - making him listen and obey whatever instruction came next. Not that he had much hope with someone like Sherlock on the receiving end.

"It's bedtime for you, Sherlock," he said and when the detective turned to look at him, John could already see the sulk coming. So much for this going over quietly.

"But I'm not even tired yet. I want to watch the news with you," Sherlock insisted and John wasn't surprised to hear a faint whine in his tone. Sherlock was a supreme actor and the whining came pretty natural to him. Still, John kept his expression stern and shook his head. Deliberately, he muted the telly.

"It’s your bedtime and you know you're not allowed to watch the evening news," John said firmly. He was ready for Sherlock to try reasoning but before he could start John held up his hand. It was quite satisfying to see Sherlock close his mouth again and look at him sullenly. This was what he wanted for this. This was what he’d hoped for. Because unless Sherlock made trouble, it was difficult to really feel the dynamic shift between them. John rewarded Sherlock’s silence with a smile. Just seeing Sherlock ready to listen - even if he had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was pouting in a most childish fashion - was making John’s chest expand with warmth. He wasn’t interested in Sherlock hiding his feelings about an issue when they did this. After all children didn’t hide their dislike of something. And the expression was typical for Sherlock, even though he usually hid the pout under a sneer.

"Go with Mary and get ready for bed,” John said firmly. “If you’re good I'll come read you a story after the news is over,” he added more warmly. He was fairly sure the idea of having a story read to him didn’t count as a reward. John wasn’t surprised by the dark look Sherlock sent him even as he got to his feet obediently.

"But I get to pick the story,” Sherlock said, his deep voice at odds with the childish demand. It wasn’t exactly a new behaviour pattern, though. Such seemingly irrational demands were the norm at Baker Street. But what surprised John, was the amount of acting skill Sherlock showed. Sherlock Holmes didn’t just walk to the bedroom, no, he raised his hand and wrapped it around an imaginary second so well that John could actually estimate how tall Mary was and how tight she was holding Sherlock’s hand. Of course the idea of a third had been Sherlock’s idea, and quite a good one, John had to admit. They could keep the fantasy real without having to break from character because Sherlock wouldn’t allow John to brush his teeth. But the realism of the act still had John gobsmacked. He quietly pitied whoever had taken care of young Sherlock, because with an imaginary friend like that he would have driven them all insane. 

Once the bathroom door had closed John turned the sound back on and settled into his seat again. Already he felt more relaxed and a smile was on his lips as he let himself settle completely into their setting. No worries about cases. No experiments to keep track of. The most daunting thing to worry about was what story Sherlock picked tonight. John was sure it would not be age appropriate in any way. He indulged in a little more worry, wondering if he’d get Sherlock up in time for breakfast. And he just hoped he’d get him dressed and washed in time to take him to kindergarten so he could be in time for work. After all, that was what parents did. Worry about their children as they watched the news. Not watching the news and worrying about which of the cases would end up on their desk in a matter of days. He did his best to push those worries away. John distracted himself by imagining Sherlock in the bathroom, letting Mary brush his teeth and help wash his face before bedtime.

After the weather forecast John turned off the telly, put his tea cup into the sink, and then walked to Sherlock's bedroom, turning the lights off as he went. He wasn't surprised to find Sherlock already under the covers, thick comforter pulled up beneath his chin and a heavy volume on the bedside table.

"Did you brush your teeth, Sherlock?" he asked as he sat down on the bed, smiling faintly at the other's glare. This was what Sherlock had been most worried about. The condescension, the looking down, but John knew he wasn’t looking down on Sherlock. He was caring about him. John just had to show him that there was a difference between those two.

"Yes, John. I also combed my hair and washed my face. Now, you promised me a story," Sherlock said. His voice sounded much more adult already and John winced inside. He just hoped Sherlock was simply bored and wanted to hurry things along - because if his flatmate was only indulging him, then this would never work out long term. Still, as long as Sherlock kept up the act, so would John.

"That I did. Which book did you pick?" John asked, already reaching for the book. He did his best to keep his voice warm and relaxed.

"Lord of the Rings,." Sherlock said smugly, but John shook his head.

"Not before bedtime. I wouldn't want you to get nightmares," John said seriously. He was actually surprised Sherlock had even settled for a young adult novel. John had been prepared to come in here and find a university level chemistry textbook waiting. But that didn’t change the fact that, at least in this scenario, Sherlock was much too young to read Lord of the Rings.

"But you said I could pick a story," Sherlock insisted, the whine back in his voice. But John stayed firm.

"The Lord of the Rings is for big boys. We can read The Hobbit if you want," he offered in compromise. He could practically see Sherlock warring internally with the desire to push back and John thought it was amazing how freeing this experience could be for both of them. Apparently their small exchange had got Sherlock back in the mood. His flatmate seemed to embrace the childish defiance now and John had to sternly remind himself to keep his expression serious. He also had to remind himself not to give in just because Sherlock looked cute the way he pouted.

"Okay. But then I get two chapters,” the detective bargained, and John couldn't help but laugh, even though he kept his expression serious and responsible.

"Sure you do. Maybe even three if you behave. Just let me fetch it quickly,” he said, rising to his feet. Without thinking about it, he reached down again to ruffle Sherlock's hair. The strands were soft and tangled around his fingers and John could see a wide eyed expression on his flatmate’s face, somewhere between incredulous and intrigued.

"Don't fall asleep while I'm gone,” John teased warmly and then he walked back out into the dark living room to switch the books. He knew, of course, that Sherlock wouldn't fall asleep, was likely not even tired yet, but the indignant expression on Sherlock’s face and the way he actually stuck his tongue out at John was well worth it.

When he came back he was surprised to find Sherlock still under the covers but now with a plush dragon resting in his arms. The thing was red and gold and John wisely didn't comment on it. He just took his place again and opened the book.

\------

Two hours later they were done with Chapter four and John smiled at Sherlock, who was listening avidly. They'd both settled into their roles easily and by now Sherlock had shifted to curl against John’s side, the dragon still clutched to his chest. He'd also stopped commenting on the unrealistic physics of the story. When John closed the book, however, strong arms wrapped around his middle to hold him down.

"No. Don't stop. Just one more,” Sherlock whined and John turned in the hold to stroke Sherlock's hair.

"You already had two more than normal, so lay down and go to sleep,” John ordered warmly, but Sherlock shook his head no.

"I'm not tired, dad. I want one more and then I'll go to sleep I promise,” Sherlock pleaded. The word ‘dad’ send a shiver of warmth down John’s back, but he still shook his head and carefully pushed against Sherlock's shoulder to get him to lay back, even if he had to lean over him to accomplish it.

"You might not think you're tired yet, but I definitely am. And we both need to get up early tomorrow. So no more stories tonight Sherlock,” he insisted.

"But daaaad," Sherlock whined and John wondered if he'd been like this as a child or if he was playing the role for John's benefit. A seed of doubt crept into John’s mind as he realised that with Sherlock’s acting skills he actually might be playing him and John had no way to stop him. He forced himself to hope for the best and shook his head again.

"No buts, Sherlock. Go to sleep," he ordered again, trying to sound more stern now. Sherlock pouted in return.

"But I can't sleep when my mind's not sleepy," Sherlock said reasonably. "And it's still whirling loudly."

The change of words and the glimpse at Sherlock’s mental state were a surprise, even if the reasoning was still more the adult Sherlock he knew. Though, now that he thought about it, John wasn’t sure if Sherlock hadn’t already been deducing back in kindergarten. However, Sherlock had presented him with a problem and as the adult in the room John would have to find a way to take care of it.

"Well then you need to quiet your mind. It's time for boys to sleep so you will have to convince your mind that it shouldn't be whirling right now. Try putting it down to a little buzzing," he said. John knew he was woefully unqualified to deal with Sherlock's exceptional mind but he couldn't admit it without breaking his role. What he could admit was, that this would need time, so he put the book down on the bedside table and stretched out on top of the covers next to Sherlock. "Just close your eyes and think of your mind palace, sweetheart," he said, running his hands steadily through Sherlock's hair, back and forth and back and forth while mumbling to him about the palace and how he should go around and turn off the lights and close the shutters. After Sherlock had initially tensed at the pet name John was floored to actually see it working. Sherlock's body relaxed, his eyes fell shut and his breathing evened out quickly. Of course the detective might just be faking sleep. John knew it was an easy enough exercise. Then again John was faking his ability to deal with Sherlock's brilliance, too, so they might as well fake it together. When he was convinced Sherlock was deep asleep, John leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Sherlock's forehead before he got to his feet and picked up the book. At the door he sentd one last glance back to Sherlock, wrapped up underneath the blanket with the dragon clutched to his chest, looking peaceful and at ease, before he turned off the light and closed the door.

He didn’t dare turn on the light in the living room and instead felt his way to the bookcase to return. For a moment, he considered what to do. He was still too wired to sleep, but he didn’t want to turn on the TV either. If Sherlock was indeed sleeping then John didn’t want to disturb him. It was rare enough to get Sherlock into bed before midnight, after all, and it wasn’t even eleven yet. Unfortunately, he couldn’t write a blogpost to help him process. He could just imagine how Sherlock would react to finding that post when he woke up. 

In the end John settled for the usual remedy:, tea. He was grateful he could prepare it in his sleep and he quietly prayed that the familiar sound of the kettle wouldn’t rouse Sherlock from his sleep. He stared down into his mug while the tea bag seeped and wondered if there’d be a repeat of tonight. John sincerely hoped so, even though he still had his doubts. But then, Sherlock might have some, too. They’d need to talk about it tomorrow and maybe the next time would run even smoother. And hopefully in time they’d learn to trust each other enough to settle for the real deal instead of teasing at what John really wanted.


End file.
